She hadn’t seen that grin since Saturday night. A bone-meltingly sexy grin that turned her insides to mush and made her do crazy, stupid, reckless things.
Like having sex with a complete stranger.
Forcing her gaze away from him, she looked at the other item he’d brought. ‘What’s in the bag?’
‘Fresh ginger root and a couple of essential oils—peppermint and tea tree. Grandma used to swear by them when Bry and I had colds. I’ve written the instructions out; they’re inside the bag.’
He’d thought enough to bring her a family cold remedy? A warm feeling of…something—like maybe she’d misjudged him?—seeped into her bones, going some way to melting the frost. She didn’t know what to say. ‘That’s very kind. Thanks.’
‘You’re welcome.’
She withdrew the items along with the handwritten note. Firm, bold, decisive writing. It denoted someone who was confident and at ease with himself. ‘You still use it, then?’
‘I never get a cold. In fact I’m disgustingly healthy.’
Yes. She could see that. She turned away from the unsettling sight of his more-than-healthy masculinity and peered in the fridge to cool her rapidly heating face and to search for something to offer to drink.
‘Ah, two plates,’ he said. ‘Does that mean you’ve decided to join me?’
‘If it’s got olives I could be tempted.’ And if anyone could tempt her… In any way…
It would not be Damon Gillespie.
‘There’s mozzarella cheese, marinated roasted chicken, capsicum, mushrooms, onion with fresh coriander smothered in satay sauce. No olives.’
‘Satay chicken. I never heard of satay chicken pizza. You sure you didn’t stop in at Nonja’s Rasa Sayang and forget the fried rice on your way out?’
‘You’ll love it.’
She retrieved an unopened bottle and held it up. ‘Is sparkling mineral water okay?’
‘Fine.’
‘Okay. We can talk while we eat.’ That way she could kill two birds with one stone and get him out of her apartment sooner. She set two glasses down, filled them, then sank down on the only other chair.
‘Sure we can, but not about business.’ He lifted the lid and inhaled appreciatively. ‘Not while we’re eating pizza.’ He slid a slice of the delicious-smelling food onto a plate and pushed it towards her. ‘Now, eat.’
She did as he asked and was surprised to find how hungry she was. Having food in her stomach also put her in a slightly better frame of mind. ‘I expect this has all been a bolt out of the blue,’ she said after a few moments. She thought she saw something like grief flicker in his eyes before he deliberately snuffed it out. A thread of surprise wound through her.
‘Who’d expect a forty-three-year-old guy with no history of illness to drop dead with no warning?’ He returned his attention to the pizza, sliding out another piece for himself as he said, ‘It’s a blow losing the only family you have left.’
She couldn’t begin to imagine losing her family. They were the most important thing to her. ‘Your parents…?’
His expression changed, the lines around his mouth deepened, the golden colour of his eyes, moments ago so bright and alive, dulled. ‘I’ve no idea where they are. Haven’t seen or heard from them in years. Gran raised me alongside Bryce. Dad won’t know his only brother’s died because I didn’t know how to contact him. Even if I’d wanted to.’
The bitterness in the rough-throated voice stunned Kate. She realised she’d been so caught up in the injustice of Damon’s apparent takeover at Aussie Essential and his appearance in her kitchen, she hadn’t really given him much of a chance. ‘I’m s—’
‘Don’t.’ Damon held up a hand and mentally shook himself. What the hell was he doing, giving Kate Fielding a glimpse of his vulnerability? The part that he kept private and ruthlessly hidden. He’d rid himself of his anger and self-pity years ago. Buried it under a mountain of hard work and harder play.
He turned his attention to lifting the pizza to his mouth. Its spicy, succulent flavours slid over his tongue, pleasure danced across his taste buds. He hadn’t tasted a pizza like it anywhere in the world. ‘The food’s good, don’t you think?’
A tiny frown still marred her brow, as if she didn’t quite believe he could be so dismissive of his inner pain.
‘Try something for me,’ he said. ‘Bite off a mouthful, chew it slowly and concentrate.’ Anything to distract her from probing into his history.
She hesitated, then raised another slice to her lips. He watched her take a bite and savour it a moment, her eyes half closed. It sent a trickle of heat to his groin. Then she licked her lips, leaving a glossy sheen of oil clinging to them. ‘It’s good,’ she agreed.
The trickle of heat grew. Tonight she looked different yet again. More accessible than the closed businesswoman he’d seen this morning, and yet, perversely, there’d been something about that buttoned-up image that had turned him on. He couldn’t stop himself imagining her sprawled on that big desk right now. While he slipped off her jacket, popped the buttons on her blouse and pulled down her bra… The trickle turned to a torrent.
Then there was Shakira—masked and mysterious but blatantly sexy with plenty of cleavage and smooth bare skin. That intriguing ruby glittering in her navel. He couldn’t help but wonder if she still wore it, whether it was attached to her somehow, like a body piercing.
And now the informal look. Very informal. But no less tantalising for all that. For a start she’d let her hair down. It cascaded halfway down her back, a waterfall of shiny black silk that begged for his touch. In her nightshirt she was obviously ready for bed.
Don’t go there, he warned himself as an image of Kate and heat and sheets rose before him. The nightshirt proclaimed in glittery letters that diamonds were a girl’s best friend. ‘Is that a personal motto?’ He waved his pizza slice towards her chest.
She stopped mid-bite and as he watched two little buds rose beneath the fabric. ‘What?’
‘You’d go for money over men?’
She frowned, looked down and her expression cleared. ‘It’s just a nightshirt, for heaven’s sake.’ But her eyes met his in a challenge. ‘When—or if—I find a man who’s worth more I’ll let you know. On second thought, I won’t bother, since you probably won’t be here for me to tell you anyway. Where did you say you live again?’
‘Wherever I happen to be working.’ Or pursuing his various recreational activities.
‘And what exactly is your line of work?’
He shrugged, evasive. ‘I take on whatever comes my way.’
Aware of her disapproval, and satisfied with it somehow, he lifted his glass, took a long slow drink. He didn’t stay anywhere long. Nor did he feel inclined to talk about it.
